Hearts of War
by GhostOwl13997
Summary: John didn't know what, but he knew he was meant to do more in this world. That he could help and with war in Europe starting to come to blows he knows that's where he's meant to be, saving lives. Its just a shame that love has decided now is his time to fall. But sometimes you have to follow your head when you leave your heart behind you. A WWII love story.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing. And while I am a huge history buff my military knowledge is questionable. I have researched things as much as I can but if there are any discrepancies in my knowledge let me know it would be much appreciated. **

* * *

**11.15a.m. September 3****rd****, 1939**

"_This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany._

_The Government have made plans under which it will be possible to carry on the work of the nation…You may be taking your part in the fighting services or as a volunteer in one of the branches of Civil Defence._

_Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against - brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution - and against them I am certain that the right will prevail."_

**Neville Chamberlain, Prime Minister of Great Britain on BBC Radio**

* * *

John had sat and replayed that speech in his head countless times since he had first heard it 3 weeks ago. He didn't really know how to react when he heard that Britain was at war with Germany. An event, according to Mycroft was inevitable considering how much leeway the government had given that German Hitler but still it bothered him deeply.

War. One word that could kill any mood in any room and bring even the most unflinching man to a still, well perhaps maybe not Sherlock but John wasn't entirely sure just what Sherlock was and whether he was actually human. This little thought made him smile. Just what _was _Sherlock? But this thought brought him to another, of the conversation they were bound to have soon. But he put the idea from his mind.

To distract himself he took the newspaper he had picked up on his way to read and was again brought back to reality with the front page headline. _**DEATH TOTAL EXCEEDS 500 – CONFIRMED**_. Of course, the war again. One of his majesty's ships HMS Courageous had been torpedoed off the coast of Ireland a week earlier with almost all of the crew being killed. They hadn't caught the submarine who did it either.

Putting his newspaper down, he sighed resting his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything other than the decision he was about to make. He knew he was doing the right thing but that didn't mean everyone would understand. His family had been scared by the last Great War and some wounds don't heal. His father had been in the Great War along with his brother Hamish. Only one had returned and the other may as well have died with him. He never knew his uncle, his namesake, but according to Harriet, his sister, he was a good man. She had been 6 when the war started in 1914. Though her memory wasn't perfect she did have small treasured memories from before the war, of the two men in her life that she loved and her mother actually smiling.

During the many long days as a child John would ask her about them. About the man who now sat sadly and empty at the dinner table and the uncle he never knew.

"_Father was very handsome and so was Uncle Hamish. Mother told me that after she and father had started courting, all of the woman in the town were very upset and they all tried to get Uncle Hamish's attention but he didn't want a wife. Mother said he enjoyed his freedom too much and that father was always looking out for him. Mother said I was the only girl he really loved. He was absolutely mad about me" Harriet said with a smile, telling John as he listened intently picturing the man in his mind, the man he had only seen in pictures. _

"_What was father like?" 10 year old John questioned. Harriet's smile slipped ever so slightly. _

"_Father was…different back then. He smiled a lot more and would always tuck me into bed and tell me how much he loved me. I do remember one night before the war him asking me would I like a sibling-I said no, of course" she tickled him before carrying on. "But he promised me it would be brilliant, that having a sibling was the best thing so I agreed but I only wanted a sister I told him. I knew how much he wanted a boy though, a son to be the next great Watson man" Harriet always got that sad look in her eyes when she remembered the man who was once the truest love of her life, of any girls life, their father. That was not the man who sat at the table silent and lost in his mind and memories. _

These stories he knew his whole life but John could never get Harriet to open up about their father and the war itself. That wasn't until 3 years ago when he was 17 and Harriet had had another blazing one sided row with their father over the lack of enthusiasm for John's excellent school results. He watched her beg him for some sort of response, anything to show how he felt but nothing. John had followed her out of the house to their garden den that they had made together not long after they moved there. He still doesn't know why he asked or why she answered this time but she did.

"_I remember the night he told mother he was going to join the troops, as a medical officer. She was crying so desperately and father was begging her to understand. Hamish was already gone and granddad said that that never sat right with father. His younger brother was off fighting Germans and he was here at home fighting the common cold as he put it. I think mother knew though that he wanted to go as soon as Hamish did but she hoped that she and I were enough to make him stay but he left anyway and Mother and I went to stay with Granddad at his home in case there was news. Every time there was an unexpected knock on the door mother would start shaking, thinking it was going to be some man in uniform telling her that father was dead, like they did when Hamish died" She allowed the sentence to hang for a moment, remembering John presumed the young man in uniform informing their grandfather that his youngest son would not be coming home._

"_Father didn't know until he came home about Hamish…I remember him being very still, not moving at all for what seemed like hours. It was the first thing he asked after giving us all a hug when he got home. He looked at Granddad and just asked him "Hamish?" and when granddad shook his head all of the light went out of fathers eyes" Harriet was crying now, silently though John wasn't paying much attention to her face as much as her words. He kept his eyes fixed on the house over her left shoulder where the man in question sat, probably alone in his office, probably thinking about his lost brother. John didn't know how to talk to him, how to make him actually look at him but then what would he say? That he was sorry? It didn't seem enough. _

"John Watson?" a young looking man, probably in his mid-30 was stood in front of him, neat and tidy uniform with a clipboard in hand. John shook his memories from his mind to focus on the job in hand. Standing up he nodded, hand outstretched.

"Yes, yes that's me"

"Corporal Simmons" The man briefly grasped his hand before letting go and walking in the direction of one of the many tables "Sorry about the wait usually we get through the applications easily enough but considering you have medical training it seemed a little redundant to make you sit through the manual explanation" John nodded taking a seat in front of the Corporal, deciding to hold his hands together to stop himself fidgeting with them. "How long have you been training in St. Bartholomew's?"

"This would have been my 4th year, Sir…I've completed three" John clarified.

"So I think we can safely say you can handle a few war wounds then" the man said with a smirk, a genuine one which surprised John.

"Yes Sir"

"Excellent. Have you any training in surgery or has your learning been mainly theory and bedside manner?" Corporal Simmons questioned looking over the information one of the young ladies from the first desk had taken.

"No...I mean yes but I…" John didn't know why he was nervous. Maybe it was the tiny Sherlock in his head telling him how many ways this was an awful idea. He took a breath and steadied himself. "I have both I mean. I've finished the majority of my theory and have begun assisting in surgery"

The Corporal nodded again looking up from the papers "You're how old?"

"20"

"Quite young for someone your age to be assisting in an operating theatre are you not?" John simply shook his head.

"My father's a doctor and I was able to finish my school studies early so I've been at St. Barts since I was 17" Sherlock would be proud, he though. He hated when John undermined his own achievements.

"Impressive. So John, why have you decided to join His majesties Army? It's not going to easy you know? Especially in the RAMC…You see some pretty horrific things son"

John nodded "I know but I can't sick around here and listen to all this going on when I can being doing something to help" he paused for a moment before continuing "My father was in the RAMC during the Great War and I want to be able to serve my country the same as he did" He tried not to picture himself like his father in 20 years, alone and broken by one decision to leave England.

"That's very noble of John" The Corporal seemed to soften some at John's words before collecting himself. "Well unlike a number of the men who have requested to join the RAMC, you will not need to go to the required medical training but you will need to present yourself here and ready to serve in 14 days from now. You will be stationed in France. There is a team of people already on the ground attempting to set up what will become a treatment facility. Your posting will be with the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers and you will be part of the field ambulances" John nodded taking in all the information as much as he could. The man in front of him rose and John did the same extending his hand again to meet the other mans.

"So you may collect your uniform from the woman at the back, just give her these papers" handing John the small official piece of paper. "And welcome to the RAMC Officer Watson"

* * *

John did as told and went to the woman at the far end of the hall and gave her the papers. She nodded and asked him his usual size before giving him a set of dress uniform for 'appropriate' times when one would be required and then a set of more familiar everyday uniform as well as coat and a rucksack to carry them all in. "You'll be given your medical supplies just before you leave"

John had also been given a large rucksack to carry all these things in and made the short walk through London to Baker's Street. He had lived here for almost 3 years now along with Sherlock Holmes. They had been friends since childhood after John's family moved out their Grandfathers home after his death and into a house not far from Sherlocks'. To this day John isn't quite sure why he and Sherlock became friends as Sherlock is almost 2 younger than John but something between them clicked and John became Sherlock's best and frankly only friend. Despite only being 18, Sherlock was brilliant for his age which was why he had been accepted to St. Bart's the same year as John though not to study medicine but rather science of some description that John had no understanding of but Sherlock seemed to know what he is doing.

221B Baker's Street had been given to Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother, first when he had left for university and when John and Sherlock had both decided to go to St. Bartholomew's to study Mycroft had simply offered them the apartment, seeing as with his new job in the government somewhere he could afford his own accommodation and in his words "No longer need to allow my mother her own key as she won't own the building". John didn't know how but the Holmes were a very affluent family. His mother stating that their ancestors had been around for generations, in other words, family money and had a lot of ties with 'people in high places' or the government without the dramatics. Its why Mycroft at the tender age of 29 was currently able to afford one of the larger apartments in London despite working only a year before giving the apartment to the pair, having travelled abroad after university.

As John opened the door to the building he listened out for Sherlock. Obviously he would need to tell Sherlock, and his family for that matter, about his signing up but he didn't want to do it straight away, well not Sherlock anyway. He'd actually only made up his mind the night before as to whether he would do it or not but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had to do this! He had a bigger part to play in this world than just being plain old John Watson the doctor.

He had barely time to put his new belongings into his room when he heard the main door below open. Quickly straightening himself he made his way down from the his 3rd floor bedroom to the main living area on the 2nd floor to find Sherlock sitting in one of the two armchairs placed in front of the fire. His eyes were closed and his fingers were steepled beneath his chin, almost like he was asleep.

John took these moments to really look at Sherlock, to take in all those unusual features, high cheekbones and raven hair that completely drained his skin of any colour making him almost ghostly compared to John slightly more pink complexion as some might say. John had long gotten past his mantra on telling himself he wasn't a homosexual. Not that he was or anything but even he couldn't deny there was something indescribably beautiful about Sherlock. And his intelligence, while the main reason for Sherlock's limited friends list, had never been an issue for John. He had believe maybe because they had been friends for as long as they had that he had grown used to Sherlock's seemingly unlimited knowledge but then he would do something else or prove some other science related theory at the university and he was reminded all over again at just how amazed he was with him.

And in Sherlock's words John wasn't as dull as the other people he met which was why he didn't mind having him around. And while yes it was slightly patronising for someone 2 years his junior to think, and say this aloud, John couldn't help but think that being Sherlock's friend was the best thing that could have happened to him.

"I can_ feel _you staring at me" John had been caught in this situation plenty of times before so he didn't stop and honestly he didn't think Sherlock minded all that much. He didn't move, his posture and focus as still as ever. When they were teenagers they had been inseparable but John had put it down to Sherlock tutoring him, allowing him to finish school early and get into the medical course he had always wanted. But since they had moved into Baker Street he couldn't deny there had been an intangible shift in their friendship. He can't quite put his foot on what it is but there was definitely something different. It was an ease and a comfort between them.

Some of the lads at the university called them the old married couple. At first John laughed it off, jokingly stating that if that was the case then he was the husband but as the years wore on the more that analogy seemed to fit. They were exactly like a married couple except in a way John's first prediction had been turned on its head. Despite his long days and mountains of work he still found time to make sure there was food made for Sherlock and that he had clean clothes and he visited his parents on occasion while Sherlock work at the university and paid for the apartment, or at least his parents did.

"Have I something on my face or are you just looking at me for no reason?" This time John smirked and removed his gaze from Sherlock.

"No just trying to figure out whether or not tonight's a good night to suggest you go and visit your parents" By now John had moved into the kitchen and started making some tea.

"No I am far too busy" Sherlock simply stated without opening his eyes.

"Well I'm going home this evening and I had thought that you might like to see your parents…3 months now?" Now john looked back into their living room. The flat in itself wasn't overly spacious with Sherlock's room off from the kitchen and the bathroom beside. John's bedroom was up on the next floor. The living room itself was simple but cluttered. Their two armchairs – Sherlock's slightly newer one and John's old armchair from his Grandfathers house-sat in front of the now cold fireplace around which were two large bookcases filled mainly with Sherlock's things but a few of John's books he had managed to get in. The window behind Sherlock's chair was bare the music stand being the only signal of Sherlock's well hidden talent for the violin, itself hidden behind the curtain in its case.

2 writing desks sat against the middle window, one each, for study though one usually remained covered in books and papers on Sherlock's side. At the far end of the room was the flats newest addition. A large 2 seater couch that Mrs. Holmes had bought after one too many times having to sit on one of the dining chairs when Sherlock refused to give up his chair for her upon her unexpected arrivals.

From his armchair Sherlock finally opened his eyes and let out a sigh as if being related to his parents could possibly be the worst thing that could have happened to him. "Oh yes…your birthday if I recall" John offered him a cup of tea which he accepted. Despite his only being 18, Sherlock rarely acted like it. In fact a lot of people thought Sherlock was older than John. "Remind me again why I had to go?"

"Because I asked and you said yes" John smiled settling into his own seat across from Sherlock. "And I wanted my best friend there"

"And remind me again why you are my best friend?" Despite keeping a straight face, Sherlock's eyes betrayed him with a smile.

"Because no one else would have you…or me for that matter" John hid his smile in his mug. He waited for Sherlock to look at him again "I guess we're stuck with each other then"

"I wouldn't mind that" Sherlock had intended to say this to himself but John had picked up on it but decided to ignore it. Seemingly wanting a change in subject Sherlock spoke "So why are you going home tonight?" he wasn't usually one for idle conversation but this seemed as good of an escape as he could find.

"Just fancied seeing my parents that's all" John avoided Sherlock's eye which was now glancing over him like it did when he was trying to figure out when John was hiding something. "Harriet is home for a time too and I haven't seen her in a while" Now this was true. His sister had married some man from Scotland, why John would never know, and had moved with him up north. It wasn't that he was a particularly bad person but Harriet had never seemed to be interested in marriage or settling down with anyone to be perfectly honest but he guessed the world worked in mysterious ways. And this half-truth was just enough to convince Sherlock of his intentions for the evening.

"Well give her my best" Sherlock and Harriet always did have a rather tempestuous relationship. John simply believed that each thought themselves better than the other and didn't question it any further but simply made a point of keeping them as far from each other as possible.

"So what are you going to do for the evening?" John questioned. He always got a bad feeling leaving Sherlock alone for long days at a time. His impending departure suddenly gripped him as he watch the sullen 18 year old think of something that might not make John ill with worry. He would have to leave-for how long was anyone's guess. Would he be okay? Would he be able to look after himself? Technically he was barely an adult and while his mind was as refined as any geniuses his social and domestic skills left something to desired.

Could John really leave him now? Go off and fight a war against some horrible Germans and leave Sherlock behind to fend for himself? He could feel the worry make its way across his face and the observing look that Sherlock gave him told him that it was true. But before he could answer the question John went to his room, leaving a slightly confused and deeply worried Sherlock behind.


	2. Chapter 2

John sat silently in his seat, watching the city of London pass him by as he travelled. Usually when he was going home with Sherlock they had a driver pick them up, or at least Mycroft or Mrs. Homes did but since he was travelling alone he decided to get the bus. It allowed him time to think anyhow.

He knew Sherlock was suspicious and he didn't blame him but he just hoped Sherlock wouldn't push the subject. He had tried to catch John on his way out of the apartment but John had managed to get out before Sherlock had untangled himself from some experiment he had started in their kitchen. Wondering what state he would find the kitchen in when he did finally return home later that evening brought John back to where his thoughts were before.

How will Sherlock manage? Would he be okay in Baker's Street all alone while John was away? Would he be safe on his own? God knows Sherlock wasn't the most capable at looking after himself like normal human beings. He would stay up in the tiny hours of the morning doing heaven only knew what and John certainly couldn't figure it out from the sounds of glass tinkling and the occasional smash when one fell, or was thrown at the wall in frustration. John had long since given up on trying to make Sherlock go to bed and it had been over two years since John actually went down during the night to make Sherlock go to his room and at least pretend to try and sleep only to hear the same glass tinkling 20 minutes later. And yet Sherlock never seemed to be bothered by his lack of sleep, although John did think it could explain some of Sherlock's more unfriendly mannerism and social interactions. At least that's what he told people. Sherlock would eventually succumb to sleep when all was done or else he would simply pass out.

And eating was almost never on Sherlock's mind. John had lost count of the number of dinner plates he had left on the kitchen counter for Sherlock before going to work a night shift at the hospital only to come home the next morning or afternoon to find the plate in the same position he had left it and Sherlock sitting at the table so entirely focused on whatever he was doing that he hadn't noticed John had left never mind had already arrived home. When John had spent 2 weeks in Edinburgh the previous summer he had returned home to find a very heavy layer of dust in the apartment, any food in the fridge had spoiled and the curtains drawn and Sherlock passed out on the floor in the living room. He needed to be treated for dehydration at St. Bart's and kept for observation for two nights. John had later gotten it out of Sherlock that he hadn't realised John was gone until 3 days after his departure and then he had survived somehow on tea without milk as John had found that spoilt in the fridge and biscuits in the cupboard until they had run out and by then it was day 12, two days before John had arrived home, consumed by how to prove some theory or another, he claimed. Despite being furious with Sherlock himself for not taking better care of himself John was livid when he next saw Mycroft who he had told he was leaving and to keep an eye on Sherlock in his absence. Mycroft looked more than a little sullen when Mrs. Holmes had found out, being used to Sherlock's preference to not visiting his parents. They had just assumed John was looking out for him, like always.

John noticed the city fall away from his vision as the bus travelled the few extra miles out of the main centre and into the more open suburban regions on London. The image of Sherlock lying on the floor when he had returned home scared him. It had always haunted his dreams. He had looked paler than usual and slimmer due to the lack of John's force feeding. His skin was so cold. And John knew Sherlock had gotten a fright from it too. He finally realised his body just could not keep going and going and had given into John's mothering more since, though there were times when he couldn't help himself from staying up all night and forgetting to eat.

It was true this was the first time John had given whatever was happening between himself and Sherlock a name. He loved him. Love! That cold fear that gripped him when he discovered Sherlock almost paralysed him and a little voice in his head replayed Harriet's story in his head how his father had frozen when he discovered his brothers' death. The loss or in John's case, the fear of the loss of a loved one meant so much more to John then and he knew then he loved Sherlock, but what did that even mean? Did he love him like his friend or like a brother? Both of course but was that enough? But what was enough? A relationship?

Subconsciously John shook his head to shut his thoughts up. Homosexuality was illegal and he knew Sherlock would never survive prison if they were found out. Of course he knew that this would only matter if Sherlock felt the same as him which he might not but somehow John didn't think that was true. The few times John had even mentioned a girls' name to Sherlock he was met with a cold stare and 2 days of silent treatment if the name had progressed to anything more than a casual meeting. The only girl who had gotten close enough was Mary Morsten. She was pretty, blonde and huge eyes to match her smiles but with an actual brain and opinions and she could make John happy in a way only Sherlock ever had. He genuinely thought he had fallen for her and her for him and in a little way he had. She was training to be a nurse at St. Bart's too. But Sherlock seemed to hate her and the rift she was causing between them was obvious even to her. She had been offered a job in Manchester the same year and told John she had accepted it. Despite his protests and offers to join her she shook her head and simply told him "Sherlock needs you more". And that was why John had fallen for her. She understood the importance of John and Sherlock's relationship/friendship and decided she couldn't be the one to pull them apart. And she was right. John couldn't really have left Sherlock, not like that at least.

The bus stopped at the end of the long road that led to his and Sherlocks' childhood homes. John passed the large Holmes house though many of the lights were out from a lack of activity. Must have gone to a show early, he mused. Mr. Holmes loved going into London to socialise and meet up with his old college buddies, or the whose-who of London's elite as Sherlock called them. He made his way to the end of the road where a more moderate building stood. An old farm house that had been redecorated before they had moved in using the money Granddad had left them. It wasn't nearly as big as the other homes but it was the oldest, its grey brick fading and the white windows peeling slightly. What did bring the small house to life was the garden. John's mother loved to tend to it and keep everything well nurtured and trimmed. He allowed himself to enter, knocking as he did so.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" The sound of footsteps from the left made him turn to see his sister make her way towards him.

"Johnny!" Even in the brief moment John had seen her, he knew she wasn't okay and her hug felt light, like he could wrap his arms around her twice. When he pulled back his worry was etched on his face.

"Hello Harry" he paused taking the moment to study her face. Her skin was pale and blotched from where she had been crying not long before he had arrived he'd guessed. Her hair was down and her unruly waves fell over her shoulders in tangles. Her cheekbones were far more prominent and her eyes sunken. "Are you okay? You look…" Looked what? What was he meant to say but she waved him off.

"Oh I'm fine I think I picked up a little infection on my way down here. I've been feeling ill for 3 days" She linked his arm leading him into the living room where their mother was now standing to meet him with a hug and a warm smile. She looked older every time he saw her, her light brown hair tied back from her aging face and her eyes tired but still smiling. His father was nowhere to be found. Sensing his eyes on the empty chair his mother answered him.

"He's in his study" John nodded instead deciding to take his father's seat. His apprehension of telling them seemed to show because his mother reached over to take one of his shaking hands. "John? Is something the matter?" Nodding he cleared his throat.

"There is something I need to tell you…all of you so I had better wait until Father's here" His tone had set both women on alarm. Harriet dropped to the ground in front of him.

"Are you alright Johnny? Are you ill or…" she paused before she carried on "…is it something to do with Sherlock?" though she said his name with a slight acid she seemed to be getting into his head somehow and he had to stop her.

"What? No, no not…nothing to do with Sherlock" he tried to laugh her off. "Why would it?"

"How is he doing? His mother was saying she hasn't seen him in a number of months" His own mother cut across him before he could babble his way into a bad situation.

"Sherlock? He's good…busy with university and all his experiments. I just make sure he doesn't land himself back in the hospital again…" he trailed off as he spoke. His body threatened to succumb to his worry when there was a noise from the direction of his father's study and the man himself was stood by the doorframe, tumbler in hand. It was the only time his father spoke was when he had a bit of Dutch courage. John could tell he hadn't been drinking much that day. He still seemed to be aware of his surroundings and that all three of his family were looking at him. He simply made his way into the room but when John vacated his seat he made no move to occupy it, instead preferring to stand with his back to them facing the window. John gathered himself before retaking the seat and his mother's hand. He had to say this now or he would bottle out of it. He must have been taking longer than he had thought because Harriet's voice cut his thoughts.

"Johnny you're scaring us now! What's wrong?"

"Yes okay so…I have made the decision to….I'm going to be" he cursed himself inwardly for his nerves and his cowardice when he dropped his head unable to look at his mother or sister when he said it "…I joined the RAMC" The sentence seemed to hang for a second, his mother's gasp being the only thing he heard.

"You're going to join the war?" Harriet's tone was not what John expected. He finally looked at her only to find her looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time, confused and wary. His mother's eyes had clouded and he dropped his gaze from her face when he'd seen. His father had not moved once or acknowledged his sons' announcement. Returning his gaze to Harry he nodded.

"Yes I am. As of this morning I am Officer Watson, of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers…I'll be in the field ambulance. I leave for France in two weeks" The confused look on Harriet's face had still not changed.

"But…why? Why would you do that?" her voice rising as she spoke. She had now risen to her feet and towered over him her confusion giving way to her anger. Both fists were clenched and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. His mother only seemed to become more distressed by Harriet's outburst and withdrew her hand from John's to cover her mouth him. His hand felt very cold from her lack of warmth and it spread through him. He sat back, hand grasped together infront of him, determined not to allow his sister to undermine his decision.

"Because I want to help" Harriet scoffed at his answer causing John to actually look up at her. "What is so wrong with that? Why is that such a terrible thing?" He looked at his mother who had placed her head into her hands to cry. He moved himself from his chair to kneel infront of her. "Mother please listen to me…I know I can do something to help and I won't be fighting I'll be a doctor helping the wounded"

He placed his hands over hers to remove them from her face. Their eyes met and John's own eyes burned with the pain he saw there. She placed her hands on his cheeks and he leaned into her touch.

"You're my baby John" her words were cut with a soft catch of breath "I don't know what I would do if something were to happen to you…out there…and if you d…" she simply shook the sad image from her mind. Heavy tears flowed down her face and John's heart broke.

"I have to do this…I know I do and I want to help. I promise I'll come home safe and sound" he had whispered this to her but he could feel Harriet's agitation beside them.

"You cannot promise that! Don't you dare make a promise that you can't keep!" He could feel her as she crouched over him, her breath on the top of his head. "You have no idea what it is like to open the door and know that the man in uniform there has nothing but bad news…you weren't there when Uncle Hamish died!" His mother flinched at her words and footsteps indicated his father had left the room. Harriet's anger had seem to run its course and she deflated, her back now to John's and her mothers'. "Hasn't war damaged this family enough?" and with that she followed her father from the room.

John allowed himself to fall back from his position on his knee and buried his head in his knees no longer able to contain the tears but not willing to let his mother see them. He didn't know why he was so upset. He knew the news wasn't going to be easy to take and of course with his Uncle Hamish's passing there was bound to a reaction like this. No big surprise really but it made him realise that if had been right about this reaction he was most likely right about Sherlock's impending reaction too and he hated to admit it having Sherlock and Harriet mad at him was not sounding like fun right now. He didn't know how his father felt about the whole situation and he had never wanted to upset his mother of course but why couldn't they see that he wanted to do this. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his mother looking at him and despite being 20 he threw himself into her arms, suddenly aware that he might not get to do this much longer.

* * *

When both he and his mother had calmed enough they made their way to the kitchen. Tea poured, they sat together in silence. It wasn't long before it was broken.

"I understand" his mother said simply. John looked up from his own cup to look at her.

"You do?" When she nodded a weight of sorts seemed to come off him. "Thank you"

"You are more like your father then you know" her eyes took on a far look, thinking back to the man she had once fallen head over heels in love with. They did look alike - sandy hair, eyes, nose, determination and brains as his mother put it. The only thing John had seemed to get from his mother was her height unfortunately, not that his father was a very big man but John had always been that little bit on the shorter side. "I knew you would want to go, just like I knew he did all those years ago…he just wanted to help save people and be there if he could if anything happened to Hamish"

"I really think I can do some good out there" John pressed. "So you're not mad at me?" he knew he sounded like a 5 year old who'd been caught running through her favourite flowers.

"No I'm not mad at you and honestly I don't think Harriet is either…she's just scared and worried about you"

"I know and I know she is right that I can't promise that I'll come back but I do promise to do everything I can to make sure that I do" John took his mother's hand and she nodded, her grip firm.

"That is all a mother can ask…and I know your father is very proud of you" John dropped his gaze, uncertain at her words. "He is John, he just doesn't know how to show you that but he has always been so proud of everything you've done"

"I know" Harriet had seemingly left the house after her outburst and had not returned and John would need to be leaving soon to get the last bus back to London. He would of course be seeing her hopefully before he deployed but he hadn't wanted to leave things tonight on a bad note.

"Have you informed your professors that you are…leaving yet?" his mother questioned. John shook his head.

"No but I will tell them as soon as possible" his eyes drifted to his watch again. He would need to leave in the next 15 minutes to make his bus.

"How did Sherlock take the news?" His mother had always had a soft spot for Sherlock. John believed it to be because of how much he had helped John with his studies and the Holmes' had really taken John to their hearts when he became Sherlocks' friend. Both families were quite close. "You haven't told him?" John shook his head.

"Of course I'm going to but I need to approach Sherlock differently. I need to make sure that he can look after himself or at least have Mycroft look out for him while I'm away. I don't want to think about what happened last year to happen again" John ran a hand over his face suddenly tired from all his worrying.

"You really care about him, don't you?" It wasn't a loaded question and it didn't pry deeper. She was more stating this aloud like a fact.

"He's my best friend, of course I do but he is also only 18 and I don't know if he will be okay on his own when I'm gone…he hardly eats when I force him to never mind when I'm not there and…I know how angry he will be when I tell him"

"He'll understand that this means a lot to you, just like I do" she gathered their cups "Now are you staying tonight or are you going?" He stood, placing his chair under the table.

"I have to head back tonight. There are some things I need to sort out but I promise I'll call before I leave" he hugged her as tightly as she hugged him, kissing her cheek gently before moving to leave.

"And John" he turned to look at her again "Don't worry about your sister, or Sherlock for that matter! They'll both come round" John smiled at her once before making his way out of the house. He looked into his father's study on the way but the door was locked and he decided better not to try.

Mr and Mrs. Holmes were making their way out of their automobile as John passed their house. Despite his trying to be sly, Mr. Holmes spotted him.

"John my boy! That you?"

"Evening Mr and Mrs Holmes…Early night?"

"Oh the weather in London is terrible, seems to be heading this way I'm afraid" Mr. Holmes said looking in the general direction of London town itself. Looking back to John he smiled. "Visiting your parents, son?"

"Yes Sir, my sister is home for a time so I decided I had better come and say hello"

"Maybe you can get that son of mine to do the same" Mrs. Holmes tutted. John mentally cursed Sherlock's.

"I'll try my best" He looked again at his watch realising he was cutting it fine "I am sorry but I must go or I'll miss my bus"

Of course once Mrs. Holmes knew where he was headed she insisted that their driver give him a lift back into London. Protesting was foolish and ultimately pointless as she personally saw to him getting into the car.

"Now tell that son of mine that if I don't hear from him by the end of the week I shall be coming to make sure he remembers who I am" Mrs. Holmes scolded light heartedly. John smiled and nodded and thanked them again before settling in for the short ride back to London.

That had been harder then he thought. Harriet's reaction replayed over and over in his head. She had been so upset with him, so angry. But John was also worried about her health as well. He knew she had admitted to being ill before he came but it seemed like more. She was more than just sick but he couldn't figure it out. Hopefully he would get the chance to before he left. He would be very upset if he had to leave without her blessing. The driver pulled up to Baker Street, the rain Mr. Holmes had stated had appeared as they entered the town itself. Thanking the driver he fished his key from his pocket before leaving the dry confines of the car and then dashing to the door as quickly as possible. Once inside he lent against it. His brain was telling him to just tell Sherlock now and get it all out in the open but his heart was telling him to enjoy a few normal days with Sherlock before he got angry with John. He battled this as he made his way up to the main living room where Sherlock was, perhaps shockingly, asleep on his own chair. John smiled inspite himself and grab a blanket from Sherlocks' room. John had forgotten that Sherlock had been up the last 4 nights working on something, it must have finally caught up with him. Placing the blanket over Sherlock he allowed himself to run a gentle hand through Sherlocks' hair, eliciting a gentle moan from the sleeper who lent into the touch.

His heart had won the battle and he flipped off the light as he made his way to bed. Sherlock didn't have to know straight away but John didn't get a choice in that.


	3. Chapter 3

John got nine days. That was it. Now he knew it was his own fault that he had not been the one to inform Sherlock of his impending departure before someone else but still he was more than a little pissed about it.

His day had started like any other Tuesday. He woke early and dressed for university. Today wasn't a particularly long day and it would be his last before his leave so he was determined to enjoy his time left in Barts. None of his fellow classmates knew of course. The day past relatively quickly but he still made no mention of going. He feigned a headache to some of the guys before saying goodbye early. He told himself he would make sure to see them and say his goodbyes properly before he left. He was now on his way to the head of the departments' office to give his notice to Dr. Moore. He steadied himself before knocking twice. He had tried to get this meeting earlier in the week but Dr. Moore had been off training RAMC officer at a barracks just outside of London. This was not lost on John's conscious either. Dr. Moore had been the one to accept John's admission to Barts early and he had taken a particular shine to him over the years. He too was the one who allowed John to advance into more complex medicine such as surgery.

"Come in" The voice called from behind and John allowed himself to enter. Dr. Moore was reading a letter or paper of some sort when John entered, his face creased with lines as he read. John could already tell he wasn't in the best mood and he knew he wouldn't be by the end of the conversation either. He looked up to see who had entered and John raised a slight hand to greet him.

"Am I interrupting…?" He started but the man waved him off, standing from behind his desk to greet John.

"No no you certainly are not…just some young man from second year medicine handing in his notice" He berated "Off to join that blasted war, would you believe" John knew the colour must have paled from his face because he could feel it happen. He just about shook himself enough to remember to shake the mans' hand. Dr. Moore was about five foot ten tall but very lean and slim. His hair had receded over the years and greyed what little remained. He wasn't much older than 50 John would have said but long days and night working in hospitals had aged him more than it should. He had sharp green eyes though that John believed almost x-rayed whoever he spoke to or at least that was how John felt when he spoke to him. He gestured to the seat infront of his desk and returned to his own, giving John his fullest attention. "Now then Mr. Watson, what can I do for you?"

John fiddled with the envelope in his hands that he had brought with him in case Dr. Moore had been too busy to see him. He could see Dr. Moore eyeing his hands to and instead chose to simply hand over the envelope instead. The man took it and allowed himself time to read it. John watched the man's face grow more and more creased by the minute. After three minutes he finally put the paper down with a sigh, turning those green eyes on John.

"And you are sure about this?" he asked simply.

"More than I have ever been" John replied.

"Well then I can't say I am altogether happy about this John. But if you think this is what is best then that is your decision" John let out a huge breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and nodded. John didn't know why he had simply accepted John's letter but then John considered that maybe Dr. Moore knew there would be no talking John out of his decision once he had made up his mind. After all John's stubbornness was legendary.

"Thank you, Dr. Moore for understanding and thank you for everything you've done for me here" John said, standing and reaching to again shake the man's hand.

"The pleasure was mine, Mr. Watson. We don't often get someone of your standards through here and I must admit I'm rather sad to see you leave. Your future here was certainly a bright one" John was shaken by the lack of hope in his voice, like he was almost resigned that John wasn't coming home.

"Well maybe when I return then I could come back here…to Bart's…you know and finish my studies"

"Yes…yes that is…true" He didn't look convinced and John wasn't exactly filled with hope either. When the older man said nothing more John took his leave and left the room. Once outside he sighed. He had worked so hard to get into this university, to become a doctor. And here he was, walking away from it willingly. He felt the sadness creep into his heart as he made his last walk through the old building, past the paintings and moulding making sure to commit it to memory. Once he stepped outside he took a deep breath and then took off in the direction of Baker Street.

His mind was mercifully empty as he walked, simply allowing himself to just enjoy London's hustle and bustle. He had received word that his sister had not been seen since the night John had been home when Mrs. Holmes had made good on her threat and visited them the previous Friday. John had obviously wanted to go home and look for her immediately but Mrs. Homes had assured him that his mother did not want that and she herself had asked Mycroft to use his connections to help track her down. Sherlock didn't even make a sarcastic comment about his brother when it was said, due mostly to the worry on John's face. He was becoming quite adept at reading situations before making remarks these days, or at least reading John's emotions before making comments but, you know, baby steps, John thought.

So John allowed himself to not think about anything and instead took a detour from Baker's Street to a park not far from it and sat down on one of the empty benches. After next week it may be years before he could do this again. The last war lasted 4 years and who knew how long this one would. So for now he would enjoy this unusually clear, though cold, day at home in London watching life pass him by.

* * *

He didn't know how long he had stayed there but eventually he decided he had better head home. Sherlock should be home by now, he thought. _Maybe I should tell him tonight? _He wondered. And if John didn't get up as usual to head to Bart's in the morning then Sherlock would become suspicious. _Tonight_, he stated to himself defiantly, he would tell him tonight. Suddenly the walk back to Baker Street felt like a death march.

When he arrived at 221, he let himself in, closing the large black door behind him. The lights were on in the downstairs flat that belong to Mrs. Hudson. She was a quiet lady who rented from the Holmes' and would on occasion clean Sherlock and John's apartment or bring them biscuits. She would keep to herself other than that. Sherlock had uncovered her husband had been involved in some rather unsavoury business, some that involved murder and had hassled the poor woman to tell him everything she knew about them until John had told him that his behaviour was, as John put it, a bit not good. She had come to accept Sherlock's eccentricities but she still didn't like when he questioned her about her husband. He was about to make his way up the stairs when voices from above caught his attention.

"You _really_ are a cocky bastard, aren't you? You really think you're _so_ special?" _Harry?_

John crept his way up the stairs, listening as he went. Was that Harriet? And why did her words sound…slurred?

"No I am an above average human being with exceptional brain capacity with more intelligence in my little finger then in all of that stupid brain of yours…" Sherlock's reply didn't surprise John. He was more than happy to remind everyone how much smarter than them he was and while it may be true most people didn't like to be reminded of that. "Really how you and John are related his vastly beyond belief, in my opinion" Now knew he was blushing but he smiled anyway, though no one could see him.

"Fuck...you" Now John balked at his sister's language noting again how slurred her speech was. He was now at the door of the apartment which was open. Sherlock was stood nearest his own seat by the fire and Harriet was stood, somewhat off balance, against the desk furthest from him her back to John. John immediately knew she was drunk and her clothes were the same as the night he had gone home.

"Hey? What is going on? Harry what…" She rounded on him as soon as she heard him. Her eyes, John's eyes, met his – dull and sad and glazed with tears. Her already pale skin even more so, apart from the redness on her nose and cheeks which John couldn't figure out was from drinking or anger. He guessed both. Her hair was a mess thrown over her shoulder though it stood on end in parts due to the dirt. She looked absolutely terrible.

"And _YOU_!" She pointed at him, taking an unsteady step towards him "fuck you too" Before John could react, Sherlock was across the room in three steps, catching Harriet by the upper arm.

"That's it. I think it is about time you were leaving, Harriet" He was already pulling her towards the stairs before John could stop him.

"Get your hands off me or I swear I'll scream until every bobby in London hears me" Her fight was futile and John followed them as Sherlock all but dragged her down to the downstairs hallway. "I said let me GO!" Once off the bottom step Sherlock did just that but Harriet's legs gave way beneath her and she collapsed onto the floor.

"Sherlock don't" John pushed past him and helped his sister off the floor only to have her shove him away once she was back on her feet. "Harry, please let me help you" He could now see she had scars, some old, some new on her exposed arms and probably more he couldn't. He took a step towards her when she shoved him again.

"You are wasting your time John" Sherlock's exasperated tone came from behind him but John could feel his anger radiating from him every time Harry touched him. "She clearly doesn't want help and quite frankly she doesn't deserve it in my opinion" Suddenly Harriet was laughing to both John and Sherlock's surprise.

"You know I said exactly the same thing about _you_" she had tried to point in Sherlock's direction but ended up slouched against the wall for support. "I told him, didn't I Johnny, that you were better off staying away from this…whatever he is" she smirked throwing a waving hand in Sherlock's face.

"Harry enough!" John had to put a stop to this now. He knew Sherlock was mere seconds away from throwing his sister into the street by force if necessary and John couldn't exactly blame him. John was just as protective of Sherlock as he was of John and no one, especially his overly inebriated sister, was going to do so. This time he stepped towards her, placing an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the door where he would hopefully find a taxi to take her back to their parents' home. "Come on Harry. I'm taking you home" but she seemed to be concentrating hard on whatever she was thinking about.

"Is that why you're leaving John?" he was pretty sure his heart stopped. Sherlock who had been watching from the stairs seemed to have stopped breathing behind him. John wanted to tell Harriet to shut up and get out before she could say anything else but the shock couldn't stop him from stopping her turning on Sherlock, finger again pointing at him. "Is it because of him? I mean I get it…I also live with a man who is entirely too difficult to live with. At least you can't be _married_ to _it_" John senses were slowly coming back to him and he could feel Sherlock's gaze boring into the side of his head and refused to meet the man's gaze.

"Harry I think you should leave-" but she cut him off again.

"John I understand! You don't to live with _him_ anymore but you don't have to go off to war and get killed just to get away from him" There. She had done it. John now believed his brain must be exposed from the force of Sherlock's determined gaze, begging John to look at him. When he spoke his voice shook almost as violently as his hands.

"Harriet…you have no idea what you're taking about" John had held her gaze and he watched as fear grew in her eyes.

"John but he's…he is the reason you're going…to get away from him" John could see she really believed what she was saying. He knew she didn't like Sherlock, not that he liked her any more but to actually think that John would go off to war just to get away from Sherlock was…mind blowing.

"How dare you!" She flinched back from his words. "Sherlock is not the reason I joined the war effort I joined because I wanted to! I don't have to justify my decisions to you anyway! I am 20 years old Harriet I can make my own decisions and I can tell you now that Sherlock has nothing to with it and don't you EVER talk about him like that again!"

"But John he's – " she was grasping for straws and she knew it but the drink was giving her some courage and John knew that it wasn't helping her from filtering her opinions like she usually would about Sherlock. "He's arrogant a…and he's rude and he…does nothing all day-you said so yourself and he is completely obnoxious and he…he…"

"He what?" John could only cross his arms, staring down at her defiantly.

"He doesn't deserve you!" John was aware of the retreating footsteps on the stairs behind him as Sherlock left. His anger now reached breaking point.

"That is it!" He caught he upper arm, much like Sherlock had in the apartment and led her to the front door.

"John please…don't…stop it…I am your sister" She was now free from his grip but standing on the open doorstep.

"Not anymore. And don't you dare talk about Sherlock like that again" And with a swift hand he closed the door behind him, ignoring Harriet's banging and cries for him to open the door. Mrs. Hudson had stuck her head out of her apartment door to see what all the noise was about when she found John on the ground with his back against the front door and head in his hands, shaking visibly, though whether from anger or sadness she could not tell.

The banging on the door ceased after a few moments and John finally lifted his head to be met by Mrs. Hudson who offered him a sympathetic smile. The apartment above was silent but John couldn't face Sherlock just yet. It seemed Mrs. Hudson could sense his trepidation and placed a light hand on his shoulder.

"Would you like some tea?" John nodded and got up from the floor and following Mrs. Hudson into her apartment and sitting in the seat she had offered him. She didn't say anything until both cups were on the table and a few biscuits placed between them.

"He'll be okay, you know" she said placing a hand on top of his own. So clearly she had heard everything then.

"Will he? Since I've known him we have never spent more than three weeks away from each other and last time he almost died from lack of basic living skills" John sighed. Mrs. Hudson gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll make sure he's okay when you're gone. I promise"

"Thank you but I think I don't think it is going to be as easy as making sure he eats. Sherlock's…well he's Sherlock" he said the last bit with a smile despite himself.

"You care about him don't you" John could tell Mrs. Hudson, just like his mother, was simply stating the fact. "Will you be okay leaving him?"

"Yea I do" he said simply "and truthfully I've been so worried about how Sherlock will cope when I leave I haven't really thought about what it will be like for me to be away from him…I don't know what I'll do to be honest. I've always looked out for Sherlock and I've never really done much else apart from going to uni and even then I come home and make sure he's okay"

"He's lucky to have you" She smiled taking a sip of her tea. Loud and fast footsteps overhead pounding down the stairs made John jump from his seat to the door of 221A.

"Sherlock?" but all John caught was the sight of his black coat as the door closed behind him. There would be no point chasing him now. Sherlock had an uncanny knack of hiding in plain sight. Mrs. Hudson had followed him to the door and placed a hand on his arm.

"He just needs some time but he'll come round"

"I hope so" she patted his arm gently and returned to her tea, John following her after a moment, closing the door behind him.

* * *

John didn't care how long he had to wait he would make sure he was there when Sherlock got home, no matter what time it was. He had put Harriet from his mind for now, deciding to deal with Sherlock first. The evening stretched into night and night into early morning and still Sherlock hadn't returned home. But John sat in his armchair so the doorway was within his peripheral vision and decided to reread the manual he had received at the barracks the day of his enrolment. Most of the things he knew of course but some things were different or more so different tools were given requiring a different method of sorts but nothing too complicated. It was almost 3 by his best assumption when he heard the door downstairs open. Placing his book aside he waited to see would Sherlock actually come up to the apartment or would he simply walk back out the door he had just come in when he realised John was still awake. It turned out it was the former.

When he entered the room, John could tell her was distressed but doing a very good job of hiding it, or he would have if it were anyone other than John he was talking to. He entered the room and removed his jacket, throwing it aimlessly at the couch. He suddenly seemed aware he didn't know what to do. So John spoke.

"I'm sorry"

"For what exactly?" Sherlock questioned though John guessed to sound more aloof than he let on but John played into it.

"For not telling you sooner about…about me leaving" Sherlock crossed his arms, pulling himself up straight, his act almost flawless.

"Yes well it was a rather… unfortunate announcement but one I can't say I didn't see coming" it was now John who looked puzzled.

"How could you know I was going to join the war?"

"Oh please John I know you better then you know yourself. You have been helping people since you were 5 years old and yet you are one of the most adventurous people even I have met or you were until you became a doctor and even then you love when there is a huge rush at the hospital or there is an accident – not in a sadistic way but you thrive under pressure. You are fiercely loyal and you want to make your parents proud, namely your father who in your whole life has never once said a single word of encouragement which always pushed you to want to do more and yet despite feeling rejected by him you want to be just like him or atleast the man he was so you became a doctor like him and now a military doctor too I presume since you never did say what you joined. And you hate seeing people hurt, having watched your mother for years suffer and your sister too, and you saved me from being alone once you became aware of my having no friends so of course when the opportunity arose for you to do all this you were going to leave…it's who you are" Sherlock had barely stopped for breath throughout his little speech his eyes never leaving Johns. And he was right. John knew he was.

Sherlock's stance fell and his act with it, now looking at John with the saddest eyes he had ever seen. Sherlock never allowed his emotions to show unless he couldn't help it despite his trying, his jealousy being the main emotion he had trouble keeping in check.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to upset you and honestly I didn't know how to" John admitted "I didn't want you to be mad at me I guess. I couldn't leave knowing you and I had parted on bad terms" John looked down at his hands "I was actually planning on telling you tonight anyway…before Harry…"

"Okay" Sherlock truthfully was at a loss for words.

The space between them felt huge despite being no more than a few feet with John in his chair and Sherlock stood just inside the door. John looked up again to find Sherlock wasn't looking at him but out the window, his brow creased with thought.

"Are you mad at me?" John questioned.

"Yes" Simple answer. John decided he didn't want to stay in the room anymore and rose. Sherlock had every right to be angry with him and he wouldn't stand there and expect him to change his mind and he didn't think his emotions would hold up if he did stay. He went to make his way past Sherlock only for the younger man to catch his arm as he past. They were now stood with their left shoulders' almost touching, Sherlock's hand holding John beside him but John wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Sherlock please just let me go" all the fight in John was gone. Already today he had fought with his sister and he didn't have the strength left to fight Sherlock right now.

"John, I said I was mad at you but I said I understood. I just wish you had told me instead of hearing it from that sister of yours" John nodded.

"I know, you're right. I'm sorry I owe you more then that" To John's surprise Sherlocks hand that was holding his upper arm trailed its way down his arm to John's own hand, intertwining their fingers. Only now did John meet Sherlock's gaze.

"You owe me nothing John. Your sister was right about one thing, I really don't deserve you" John dropped Sherlock's hand much to the disappointment of the younger mans only to be shocked when John caught him in a tight embrace. He hesitantly returned it.

"No! No my sister was not right! She has never been more wrong about anything before. You and me we balance each other out. I would not be where I am now if I hadn't met you Sherlock. I mean that" Sherlock gripped the back of John's jumper as nodded into his shoulder.

"Me either" Sherlock admitted. After a long pause he spoke again "I really wish you weren't going" This type of admission was rare from Sherlock and it warmed John's heart as much as it burnt it.

"I know" they stayed like that for a few moments before unwillingly pulling themselves apart, though not completely. They distance between their faces was minimal, their breaths mixing together. John want to close that distance, oh he so wanted to but not now. If he started kissing Sherlock now there was no way he would leave. The temptation to just kiss him, to finally discover what it would feel like to have his mouths on Sherlock was almost overwhelming. He had to remove himself now. He couldn't do it to Sherlock, though John's internal voice argued Sherlock would be more than okay with what John wanted to do to him. But no. He would not leave Sherlock to wait for him, like he wouldn't already, but not with his heart on the line because right now Sherlock and John's hearts were as safe as they could be and if they were to be traded Sherlock's heart would be at much at war as John. And he knew if he died so would Sherlock's heart. So with great effort and sadness he stepped away from him.

"We should…um bed" He tried to ignore the disappointment on his face when he moved away. Seeming to pull his guard back up, Sherlock's expression hardened and nodded and without another word went to his room. Despite his whole body seemingly pulling him after Sherlock, John turned and walked to his room, ignoring the burning in his chest when lay down alone in his empty bed, craving sleep to take away from his reality. Away from his heart break.


	4. Chapter 4

John knew Sherlock was mad at him. No worse. He was hurt. And this made John hurt. Sherlock had left before John woke the next morning and did not return. By 7 that evening John was starting to worry. He knew there was every chance that Sherlock was avoiding him but deciding to ignore this he instead grabbed his jacket and keys, heading down the stairs and out into Baker's Street and the cool autumn air.

He pulled his coat up around his neck, _much like Sherlock did_, he thought, and headed off in the direction of Bart's hoping to find Sherlock engrossed in some experiment and having simply lost track of time. London was quieter this evening, just the few men and women walking along, the odd child amongst them. The park was deserted and dark from the lack of natural light with the evening already drawing in. Street light glow was mixed with the last of the days light as it set behind John, casting a faint shadow ahead of him.

The walk to St. Bart's barely took 15 minutes and he headed into the main building, choosing to instead go left instead of his usual right. The science department has located here. He had barely made it down the hallway when he heard his name.

"Watson?" he turned back to see who had called him. Mike Stamford, one of John's old classmates. He looked upset as he headed towards John.

"Evening Mike" John politely greeted.

"Why didn't you tell us?!" he exclaimed in John's face, excusing the niceties. John could now see how hurt he was._ It seems like I'm hurting everyone_, John thought.

"Look Mike I am sorry that I lied to you but I hadn't had the chance to tell Sherlock and I was worried that one of you guys might say something to him by mistake" John replied honestly, looking Mike in the eye, hoping he would understand. While John had become great friends with almost all in his year group, initially they were reluctant to accept him as they were all older than John but Mike had been the first and John had always remembered that. Mike seemed to believe him because his stance dropped and he nodded.

"Oh, okay sorry I just…when Moore told us this morning…" he didn't finish the sentence, shaking his head in sadness. He placed a firm hand on John's shoulder. "Are you sure about this John?" His worry truly touched John's heart.

"Yes I am sure Mike. I thought long and hard about this before I made up my mind" Mike nodded giving his shoulder one last squeeze before releasing it.

"Well me and the lads were only just saying how we were going to come find you and take you out to say farewell properly" Mike started before John cut him off.

"No, no Mike really there is no need for that"

"Don't be daft! You know the others won't accept that. Us doctors don't get many nights off and even fewer nights to enjoy a drink. Besides, they all wanted to say goodbye properly to you" now Mike was using his best puppy eyes on John. "Come on John. One last night all us lads together"

John was tempted to decline and just go and find Sherlock but he knew Mike would not stop until he got his way. Raising hands in surrender John nodded.

"Fine okay I'll go and see the guys but I'm making no promises about staying out" John scolded lightly following Mike off towards the hospital side of the building, giving one fleeting glance back towards the science department as he did. He would come back later after he had said his goodbyes to his friends.

* * *

Going back to the science building never happened. Once the others had seen John there was no stopping them from getting him into the nearest pub to buy him a farewell drink. He couldn't remember if this was his fourth or fifth drink but they seemed to be coming continuously from somewhere, appearing in front of him as the previous glass was emptied. Someone with a guitar had started playing off in a distant corner and some of the lads were currently engrossed in a rather loud rendition of a song that sounded nothing like the original to John. Mike was still beside him with Peter Simms on the other. Two of the guys had struck up conversations at the bar with two young girls and the rest were dancing in the little space available, still singing as loud and as dedicated as they had been from the start.

"So when do you leave John?" Peter asked.

"3 days. I have to be at the barracks on Saturday morning first thing and then it's on to France" John pointed off in some direction to emphasise his point.

"You're a braver man then me mate" Mike declared taking a long swig from his glass. He placed it down before speaking again. "I couldn't do it" he confirmed, shaking his head.

"You might not have a choice mate" this time it was Stephen who spoke, having finished his song and retaking his seat along with Simon, both taking large gulps of their pints.

"What…what do you mean?" Mike questioned suddenly worried. John could feel the tension coming off him. He too was curious as to what Stephen meant.

"Conscription" he said as if that was all the explanation it needed and truth be told, it was. Of course. Why hadn't John thought of it before?

"Do you really think they're going to do all that again?" Peter asked. He now also fully captivated by Stephen.

"I don't see why not. Like you've said they done it before and there's nothing to stop them doing it again if this bloody war goes like the last one" John couldn't deny his logic. The five sat in silence for a brief while each contemplating what it would mean if conscription started again. John felt suddenly more at peace with his decision for exactly that reason. It was _his_ decision, not something forced onto him.

"I don't think I could handle it me, to be honest guys" Simon admitted quietly, mike nodding in feverent agreement.

"No I don't think I could either"

"But that's the point you won't have a choice. You would just have to go where they sent you and hope you come back alive" The mood suddenly dropped between them and deciding he would rather not dwell on his seemingly inevitable demise John decided to try and lighten the mood.

"Well thank you very much for reminding me and also for reminding me that it is your turn to buy me a drink!" he drained his glass for good measure and handed it to Stephen who smirked and walked to the bar. The tension seemed to lift ever so slightly and seeming to catch onto John's idea Paul spoke.

"Hey joining the army's not all bad" The others looked at him incredulously but he kept his face calm and winked "Ladies love a man in uniform after all"

The night went by quickly after that and there was no more mention made of the war itself and instead John chose to simply enjoy this last night with his friends. He didn't know what time it was when they left but Mike had taken it on himself to make sure John got home safely.

"I'm going to miss you Mike" John said, poking Mike's shoulder probably harder than he had meant to but the drink was seriously starting to affect him. Mike smiled and placed a firm hand on John's upper arm, much like Sherlock had the night before, to steady him and move him in the right direction.

"Thank you John. I have to say I am going to miss you too"

"No _really_ though. You were very kind to me when I started at Bart's and I never said thank you so _thank you_" he had tried to perform what mike could only think was a bow or courtesy of sorts but Mike's well placed hand stopped John from falling head first to the pavement.

"It was no trouble, really. Now let's get you home before Sherlock gets worried" On the very few occasions in the past when John had come home late, Sherlock was usually sat up waiting for him.

"Sherlock? No Sherlock won't be worried about me" Mike could see how miserable John looked.

"Of course he will" But John shook his head vigoursly, slowing as the world spun violently around him.

"Oh that's not good" Mike decided to ignore their conversation settling instead to just getting John home before he passed out. He fished the keys from John's coat pocket and let them both into 221B. He had been here before and led John up to the apartment which was dark.

"Sherlock?" John called as he entered the room. Mike flipped the switch, making John wince at the change in brightness. He watched John walk to Sherlock's empty chair before turning back to Mike, pointing at the empty air. "See, he's not here" Mike didn't miss the pain in John's voice as he spoke. He wasn't stupid. He knew John and Sherlock were more than simply flatmates and friends he just didn't care. He knew it was because of Sherlock that John didn't have a girlfriend, not for a lack of willing admirers.

John turned suddenly and ran towards the bathroom, Mike listening for the eventual sound of John being sick. He allowed himself into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, holding ready when John finally came out, looking rather green in Mike's opinion. John accepted the glass and dropped himself intone of the chairs. He seemed to be sobering up by now, at least a little. His head was dropping where he sat, jolting him awake every time his head dropped.

"Come on John, bed" John nodded but instead of making his way upstairs he turned and headed into Sherlock's room. Without getting changed he dropped onto the bed and was asleep within minutes. Mike placed a fresh glass of water on the table beside the bed and closed the door behind him. He left a quick note of goodbye on John's desk and showed himself out of the apartment. He just hoped that whatever was going on between John and Sherlock that they sorted it out soon. John was leaving in 2 days.

* * *

Pain. Blinding, excruciating white hot pain greeted John when he opened his eyes, or tried to open his eyes. He didn't know where he was or what time it was or even what day it was. All he knew was he was never drinking a single drop of alcohol again. He took a few deep breaths before attempting to try and open his eyes again. Slowly, waiting for the haze to pass, he took in his surroundings. His mind was slower than normal but it soon jumped into gear when he realised where he was. Sherlock's room. _Why was he in Sherlock's room, in Sherlock's bed?_ He looked down at himself. He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, one of his shoes still on his feet. And he was cold from the lack of blankets, having fallen asleep on top of the covers. Eyeing the glass of water on the table he gulped it down greedily.

He managed to sit himself on the edge of the bed, listening out for signs of life in the apartment. When he heard nothing he made tentative steps to the door looking into the kitchen. "Sherlock?" He winced at the sound of his own voice, dragging himself into the living area. Nobody was there. Running a tired hand through his messy hair he decided he had better clean himself up and made his way to the bathroom.

Feeling more refreshed, though his head still felt like something was trying to chisel its way out of his skull he went back into the living room. It looked no different from when he had left yesterday so Sherlock hadn't disturbed anything if he had been here. The thought suddenly struck him. _What if Sherlock had come home and saw John in his bed?_ Embarrassment flushed his face and he groaned audibly, though there was no one there to hear it.

"Stupid, stupid John" he muttered to himself. He turned to pace when his eyes caught the handwritten note on the desk. Frowning he pick it up and read.

_John,_

_Hope you feel better in the morning. By the look of you, you'll be quite ill when you wake up._

_I'm glad we got to say goodbye to you properly and I wish you all the luck I can and I hope you make it back to us in one piece. It has been a pleasure to know you._

_Your friend_

_Mike._

John's heart almost burst with gratitude. He really did have a great friend in Mike. He folded the letter away and went to put it with his medical journal and paper he was bringing with him to send letter's home. Deciding to go and finally see where Sherlock was, he changed into something warmer and grabbed his coat, hoping the fresh air would help his headache. He caught his reflection before he left and sighed. He had to admit he looked terrible. The bags under his eyes were huge and he was quite pale. Running a quick hand through his hair he left the apartment. It was raining, just what John needed. Folding himself against the wind, he headed off on his usual path to St. Bart's.

This time he met no one upon entering and make his way up into the laboratories where Sherlock could usually be found. He searched all the usual spots, finding no sign of the tall messy mop of curls anywhere. He even went down to check the mortuary where Sherlock had been known to test some of his more unusual theories on the dead corpses but again there was no sign of him. As he was leaving he ran into a familiar brunette, Molly. She worked in the building, filing and keeping records but her knowledge of the human anatomy was rather extensive, according to Sherlock. She had quite the crush on Sherlock, much to John's unacknowledged displeasure, but Sherlock used her infatuation to his advantage, using the poor girl to gain access to things he shouldn't.

"Molly?" She jumped at his voice, turning and dropping whatever she was holding. John rushed to help her "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you"

"Oh no, it's…fine. I'm…fine" She gathered the paper from John's hands, arranging them more neatly in her hands. "Can I help you?"

"Have you seen Sherlock today?" he watched her light spark at the mention of his name, and pushed his jealousy aside.

"Sherlock? No…no I haven't" Her disappointment was obvious "I haven't seen him since Tuesday" John frowned.

"You mean he didn't come in yesterday?" If anyone would know it would be Molly. She made it her mission to see Sherlock at least once every day. She shook her head.

"No he didn't…I mean I didn't see him when I looked yesterday…not that I was looking for him…" she flushed scarlet and John decided not to make her suffer.

"Thank you Molly" She nodded and rushed off in the opposite direction. Where on earth was Sherlock if he wasn't at Bart's?

He made his way back up into the building and out into the misty London streets, again bending himself against the wind. He had to get home and pack. He was going to stay at his parents' house tonight as a final goodbye before he left in 2 days. When he got back to Baker Street a familiar black car was parked outside, its diver waiting beside it. He nodded at John as he entered 221B. He made his way up the stairs and was greeted by Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother.

"Dr. Watson, a pleasure" he smiled from his place in Sherlock's chair, tea already in hand. Mrs. Hudson could be heard rattling around in the kitchen.

"Mycroft" John's reply was unmistakably cool. He made his way to the kitchen and told Mrs. Hudson to go and put her feet up and he would finish the tea. She took her leave and left both men to their stony silence. Once his cup was made John took his own seat across from Mycroft, making no attempt to speak. Mycroft seemed to be itching to anyway.

"Well well Mr. Watson, just what have you done to my poor baby brother that's got him all in a spin?" John's eyes flashed up from his cup to meet Mycroft's dark ones. He was so unlike his brother. Where Sherlock was tall lean, with more hair than most women and an electricity of adventure and somewhat madness about him Mycroft, while also tall was by no means as lean as Sherlock, nor as pale and his hair was trimmed within an inch of its life, precise and unmoving, much like Mycroft himself.

"You know where he is?" John couldn't help himself from asking. He was worried about the younger man.

"Yes he's at home, locked away in his room and refusing to talk to anyone, or shall I say me rather particularly" Mycroft's smirk never left his face as he spoke, finding his little brother's actions rather amusing.

"Why what have you done?" he didn't mean to sound angry but he could hear it in his voice anyway.

"He asked a favour of me, one I could do nothing about" John raised his eyebrows in question to Mycroft, knowing he understood. "He asked me to have you removed from the RAMC" John almost dropped his tea onto the ground. Sherlock had been so desperate to keep him in London that he had done the one thing he would never admit to – asking Mycroft for help. Just to keep John safe. Taking in the shocked expression on John's face, Mycroft's amusement grew. "Yes I was rather surprised myself when he came to me, seemed almost…desperate"

John remained silent, not trusting himself to speak. His mind was a mess of emotions none of which were making any sense. He was hurt and angry that Sherlock had gone behind his back to get Mycroft to have his dismissed or removed from the RAMC. Jealous that he had gone to Mycroft to talk to instead of him. And more deeply touched than he had ever been at Sherlock's attempts to protect him. And he missed him.

He eyed Mycroft again and something told him that Mycroft wasn't telling him the whole truth. According to Sherlock, Mycroft was about as high in the back crevices of the government as one could be, his advanced and capable brainpower was a highly valuable asset and he could just about deduce anybody who was lying to him just as Sherlock could. So why couldn't he grant Sherlock this, in John's opinion, rather easy request.

"You lied to him, didn't you?" John question. Mycroft seemed almost proud John had been able to deduce the situation himself.

"I did not think you would appreciate the gesture, though if I am wrong I am sure I might be able to make a few arrangements" He seemed to be almost testing John's resolve and he could feel it crumbling but he held the man's gaze.

"Won't it matter if they bring in conscription again? I'll just be called then instead, won't I?" John asked, remembering what Stephen had said the night before. Mycroft thought over this before answering.

"Perhaps and perhaps not" he replied. "I have a friend in the war office who I could speak to about your situation"

"So if you can keep me out of the army you could do it for others too?"

"In a manner of speaking" Mycroft seemed to be losing John's train of thought.

"So if conscription does come in, won't that mean that Sherlock can be called up?" He didn't remove his eyes from Mycroft's.

"I guess it would" Mycroft conceded. John nodded.

"You make sure that he never sets foot into this war Mycroft" John's voice was firm and hard.

"And what if he, like you, choses to enter voluntarily?"

"You and I both know the only reason Sherlock would go to Europe now would be to follow me!" John's tone was getting more and more agitated. John waited for the sarcastic comment or the snide remark but it didn't come. Mycroft simply nodded.

"Sadly this is true. My brother does seem rather…_attached _to you"

"So I am asking you now, do not let him do anything that will put himself in danger! Do you understand Mycroft? Anything, whether it's to do with the war or not. I need you to look out for him. And perhaps you could do a better job than the last time I asked you to watch out for him. Unless you've forgotten he ended up in hospital" John's voice had grown in volume to the point he was almost shouting at Mycroft by the end of his speech.

Mycroft didn't acknowledge John's request choosing instead to check his pocket watch.

"You should pack Mr. Watson. I am heading home myself for the evening and I do believe you are doing the same. Care for a ride?" he smirked up at John, making it clear he was done on the subject. John waited a moment before nodded and going to grab a change of clothes, his pyjamas and his toothbrush. When he returned to the living room Mycroft was stood waiting for him, his umbrella in hand.

"Shall we?" He led John out of the house and into the awaiting car. Neither spoke as they made their way out of London. It wasn't until they were pulling up to the Holmes drive that Mycroft spoke.

"I meant to inform you your sister was arrested on Tuesday night" John wasn't surprised considering her state when he left her on the doorstep. "Found sleeping in a doorway in east London I believe. Her husband came and got her. They returned to Scotland yesterday morning" John was saddened by this. He had hoped to see her before he left, despite his feelings towards her after their last conversation. The car stopped and both men vacated its confines. John looked up to the window of Sherlock's bedroom, watching the slight ripple of the curtain as someone moved from view.

"Quite the child my brother" Mycroft commented.

"Yes I am aware but I can't blame him for being mad at me" John conceded. He set off for his own house when he turned back to Mycroft "Tell him I'll come and talk to him later, if he wants"

"I will pass on your request" Mycroft was alarmingly helpful in John's opinion but he decided not to question it for fear he may bring the usually distant and emotionally void human back to his senses. Shouldering his small bag he made his way towards the old farmhouse.

Sherlock watched him go, sighing and wondering if he could slip into Mycroft's car unnoticed and escape now before he had to face John. He didn't want John to leave. He didn't want to say goodbye to the man he loved.


	5. Chapter 5

John sat silently at the kitchen table as his mother doted around him, making sure he had enough tea and food. She had been like this since John arrived. In truth he hadn't seen his father yet but he was in no doubt he would before the day was out, at least he hoped. There had been no mention of Harriet since he had come home, not that he minded. In truth he wasn't quite sure of his feeling towards her at this moment in time. She had not only embarrassed him with her recent carrying on but she had also deliberately come to Baker's Street to insult and undermine Sherlock and their…relationship? Friendship? Whatever it was and while John wasn't sure he was ready to forgive her, he didn't want to go away with their last encounter hanging over them. After all, it may be their last.

John's mother had yet to take a seat since he had arrived and John could almost see her becoming more and more frantic trying to occupy herself. Stepping out of his chair he reached for her as she past, stopping her making her third pot of tea in an hour.

"Mother please" She looked at him, almost confused as to why she wasn't moving anymore. When she finally made eye contact with him she sighed and gave an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm faffing aren't I?" John nodded before actually making her sit down before she could take off again. He placed a cup of tea in front of her and then retook his own seat.

"I was beginning to wonder if the floor could take any more of your pacing" he joked. She playfully slapped his hand where it rest on the table and then took it in her own.

"A mother can fret over her children all she likes" she argued "Especially since I don't know when I'll get to do it again" her eyes held tears but she somehow held them back. John admired her strength but when he thought about it how often over the years had she held back tears? She hadn't had the easiest life and certainly not the easiest marriage. She was young when she had married and then she had 4 years of hell waiting for her husband to come home while looking after a small child on her own. And even after John was born she had practically raised both her children alone. John couldn't remember much but he knew Harriet had been a difficult teenager and John- well he was no trouble as such but he was quiet and somewhat of an isolated child, something John knew his mother worried about desperately. She had watched her husband become a shell of the man she fell in love with to watch her son take after him was horrifying to her. She had tried to make him play with the other children but he never seemed interested by them.

Until Sherlock came into the picture. And while no one could ever understand it, being Sherlock's friend made John more outgoing and friendly and very charismatic. She did harbour the belief that having to apologise for Sherlocks' behaviour regularly made John social and anyone would look friendly when compared to Sherlock.

"I won't be gone forever you know" he smiled, turning his hand over to take hers. "I might be going away but I promise you- you can't get rid of that easily. I have every intention of coming back here"

"I know you do but still it may be a long time so I'm going to fret all I can while I've still got you" Her smile was genuine and the hint of playfulness crept into her eyes. John felt so proud of his mother, proud to be her son. She was so resilient and strong. He had a genuine admiration for her. If he was half the person she was, he would come home no doubt. But like him, she had her weaknesses.

"I love you mother" he just had to tell her because suddenly it felt like he hadn't said it enough. Before she could reply he left his chair and hugged her close. "I am going to miss you so much and I promise I am going to come home. I promise"

Shocked by his sudden emotion it took her a moment to hug him back but she did so with vigour. "I love you too, son" They pulled away after a moment and said no more. Simply finishing their tea with Mrs. Watson informing him of some of the local news she had heard while out the day before.

After a while, Mrs. Watson couldn't help but notice her son glancing in the direction of the Holmes house just visible through the trees over her own shoulder. His eyes took on a sad look every time they made contact with the house and he would quickly remove his gaze to his fidgeting hands, his pursed lips an obvious tell of his distraction.

"Mrs. Holmes told me Sherlock is home" she couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face when John's head perked up at the mention of the young man's name. He didn't say anything almost hanging on her words for some information. "Yesterday I believe. She said he seemed quite distracted and he locked himself in his room after a rather loud disagreement with his brother"

"Oh, really?" John's mother had to hide her smile in her cup of tea at John's attempt at ignorance.

"Apparently she believed it had something to do with you" She allowed her sentence to hang while her son flushed scarlet. He had now dropped his gaze and refused to look at her at all. "Anything you need to talk about?" she pried.

John had now put his head in his hands and simply shook his head. He didn't want to talk about Sherlock not until he knew where they stood now. For all he knew Sherlock might never want to speak to him again after John's rejection the other night because that's what he had done, wasn't it? Rejected Sherlock. Not that Sherlock understood his reasons but he hadn't had the chance to speak to him and now he might not get it if Sherlock was so keen to avoid him. He didn't want Sherlock mad at him. He just wanted things to go back to how they were before this stupid war. But that wasn't the truth either and the confusion of it all made John groan audibly.

"John? Talk to me" his mother asked gently. He looked up at her and sighed.

"He's mad at me"

"About you going to war?"

"Among other things" he replied really hoping his mother wouldn't push the issue. She looked like she was about to when his father came into the kitchen. He made no comment to either and took his tea and left. "Look I'm going to go and see him tonight and try and make amends before I leave. Its bad enough I didn't get to with Harriet before she…" he regretted his words before they left his mouth. His mother eyed him cautiously.

"What happened with your sister?" John considered not telling her and making a swift exit but he was a terrible liar and he knew it.

"She turned up at Baker's Street on Tuesday. I came home and she and Sherlock were having some sort of row and when she told me to f…well she wasn't particularly friendly and Sherlock tried to make her leave" he paused trying to gauge his mother's reaction but her face gave little away so he continued "I tried to get her to a cab and bring her home but she started saying all these things about how the only reason was going to war was to get away from Sherlock and how he didn't deserve me and I… I threw her out" he whispered the last bit ashamed of his behaviour but in the moment he didn't know what else to do. "I'm sorry I just didn't know what to do and I was so angry with her and she was drunk and…"

"And you decided to leave her on the street" his mother finished his sentence. She didn't look mad but her face was blank. One of her weaknesses. Being unable to see Harriet for what she was, a drunk, choosing to baby her instead. No in his mothers eyes Harriet could do no wrong, much to John's annoyance.

"I'm sorry. I was angry and she had told Sherlock about me leaving and he was upset and I didn't know what else to do" he pleaded. He couldn't have his mother angry with him too.

His mother just nodded and removed herself from her seat. "I should start getting supper ready" was her response and with that the conversation was over. John wanted to scream at her to understand and forgive him but instead he nodded and left the kitchen without a word. His father was stood in the window of the sitting room as he past and he stopped both sharing a quiet look. His father was the first to look away, taking a drink from his tumbler and John took his queue to leave.

* * *

Sherlock had escaped the house before Mycroft had managed to find him to relay John's message and instead made his way to the town before anyone could stop him. It wasn't a particularly large town-a pub, a shop, one bus stop and a post office and that was it really. The local schools were slightly out of the town centre, not that Sherlock had attended either of them but John had. Around it were large open expanses of farmland and fields that Sherlock had extensively explored as a child with John.

John. He missed him. If he missed him this much after only 2 days how would he be if John was gone for 2 years? Or more! The last war had been 4 years long. Sherlock wasn't sure how he would survive it if he had to wait 4 years to see John again. A lot can happen in 4 years. Hell a lot can happen in 4 days!

4 days ago his life was perfectly fine, perfectly normal and here he was now uncertain of the status of the only real friendship he had ever had and almost sick with worry about the survival of the only person he had ever really chosen to genuinely care about. And then the hurt of John's rejection the other night. They had been so close, closer than Sherlock could ever remember and he could feel John's heat beat increasing and his pupils had grown to twice their normal size and oh how he had silently begged John to close the gap between them and just accept whatever was happening and just kiss him!

But he didn't.

He had pulled away. Sherlock could only guess why but still it stung him deeply. Could he have read all the signs so wrong? Sherlock had been sure that his feelings for John were reciprocated even if John didn't want to admit it but could he have been wrong? Maybe John didn't feel the same. Maybe the other night hadn't happened or not like Sherlock remembered it but no, no his memory was perfect. He had replayed that moment over and over and over and he knew John didn't want to pull away. He knew it. He just didn't know why he had and that was what was frustrating Sherlock.

Was it an image thing? Was John worried about people thinking he was a homosexual? Sherlock of course knew that such a thing was illegal but Mycroft would be able to help them surely. Sherlock himself didn't care if anybody knew. He would make no apologies for who he was, he never had. Self-preservation was not high on Sherlock's priorities but he knew such things mattered to John.

What else could it be? Was there someone else in John's life? He had thought he had seen the last of these silly girls in John's life with Mary. He loathed to admit it but Sherlock hadn't hated her as much as he had the others which was why her presence had hit him the hardest. Even Sherlock could see how perfect she was for John and it almost killed him when he heard that John was planning to leave with her. How dare this woman waltz in and be perfect for John and then try and take him away! He knew of course he was being absolutely childish but his logic lost the battle with jealousy and he had locked himself away from John planning on doing so until he left. But then he didn't. He had stayed, for Sherlock. And if John hadn't left with Mary, Sherlock was pretty convinced no one could take him away.

Except the war.

Stupid noble, heroic John and his honour. Of course he was going off to help people. Sherlock wasn't the least bit surprised but he was scared. Every time he thought about it he hands shook of their own accord. He was usually so good at masking his fears but not when John's safety was in question. Images of blood and guns and bullets and bombs bombarded his mind and he could do little to stop them. The idea of John, his John, out in a warzone was terrifying even if he wasn't an actual soldier. What would Sherlock do if John died?

"Shut up!" he cursed at himself from where he sat in one of the fields not far from the town, looking in the direction of London. The sun was long setting in the west now to his right. He didn't know how long he had been out but it must be after 5, probably closer to 6 he reckoned. His parents would be looking for him by now. He didn't want to go home. He could try and get the bus back to London but he had no money on him having left the house in a hurry. He could walk but then he didn't think he would make it. He hadn't eaten much all week or slept at all since Monday.

As the last of the days light disappeared he stood and made his way slowly back towards his house. John would be having supper around this time with his parents so hopefully he could get home without being seen. He could grab his things and some money and head back into London tonight and be gone before John came home tomorrow and he was sure he could find something to occupy himself with at Barts tomorrow night so he wouldn't have to see John before he left. There would be no goodbye and farewells because Sherlock didn't want to risk becoming a child a begging John to stay. His pride was much too stubborn to do that, at least in person. No he would hide out at Barts until John was gone and then he would go back to an empty Baker's Street, alone.

* * *

John did eat supper with his parents in a rather stony and uncomfortable silence. When it was done he had attempted to remove the dishes from the table but his mother had stopped him and left the room to busy herself in the kitchen alone with cleaning. John and his father sat in silence. Neither made a move to leave. John couldn't remember the last time he had been in such a situation with his father. His father was still drinking, tumbler in hand and something in John snapped. He was tired of everybody judging him for his decision when they made rather poor ones themselves and yet holding his against him.

He was angry with Harriet and her self-destructive behaviour and her drinking and her attitude about Sherlock, becoming exactly what she loathed-their father.

He was angry with his father for ignoring him his whole life, when all he had done was everything to make the man proud, making his mother and Harriet watch him self destruct.

He was angry at his mother for putting up with his father and letting him drink himself into pit and allowing Harriet to follow but when John does something wrong he's the bad one.

And he was angry at Sherlock for making him feel the way he did and for not understanding him when he was the one person John had thought he could rely on to understand.

John was just simply angry.

Grabbing the tumbler from his father's hand he threw it at the far all. His father looked shocked at first but simply stood to replace it. His mother had come running at the sound of the glass shattering and was shocked to see John stood and shaking, his face contorted in anger.

"John! What are you…" but he was already around the room, taking the next glass from his father and putting himself between the man and his drink.

"NO!" He shoved his father away from the drink and stood to his full height. The man followed and clenched his fists.

"John stop it…" again his mother had tried to speak but the vibration of anger rolling off John was enough to make her pause.

"Move" his father's voice was low and hollow and deathly but John didn't flinch or move.

"So you can speak" he knew being smart right now wasn't the answer but he didn't care.

His father's face was blank but his anger was building. John would have said he was scared but in truth this was 20 years of held frustration and nothing was going to stop him now. Especially not fear.

"Last time…move" his father's stature was rigid and focused. His eyes were boring into John's but he held his gaze.

"No. No I am not going to spend my last night at home watching you drink yourself into the grave!" His voice shook but it held strong. "I have watched you my whole life. Drinking yourself blind and now Harriet's doing exactly the same thing but apparently that my fault- suddenly I'm the bad one because I want to do something... to help! To do more than drink myself into the ground and become the joke of a man that you are!" John saw the fist before it connected with his face, losing his balance and knocking the drinks to the ground. His mother cried out but he waved her off, regaining his footing and meeting his father's gaze again. John almost wanted to believe he saw regret in the man's eyes.

"I have done everything I can to be like you. I have done everything I can to be the best doctor I can be. But do you know what? I don't want to be like you because you are nothing but a drunk and a terrible excuse for a father and a husband…and Harriet is going to turn out just like you" Now he knew his words were harsh but he could see a reaction finally in his father's eyes. The shame and regret was evident and his posture had also dropped. He knew she should have stopped but he couldn't. His words were coming like an uncontrollable stream from his mouth. He looked at his mother and remembered their conversation from the afternoon. He knew it wasn't fair but she hadn't been fair to him.

"I am sorry about Harriet but there is nothing I would do differently about that whole situation. She needs help and you need to acknowledge that they both need help. I cannot keep being the let down because you refuse to admit to yourself that Harry has a problem. She's 30 years old and you need to start treating her like it. She's not your little girl anymore, mother. And you and I both know where she's going to end up if she keeps on this path" he could feel his anger giving way to his pain. His constant feeling of needing to be the best to make up for Harry. His mother had once whispered to him when she believed him to be asleep that she needed him to be better, to prove she wasn't a bad mother. This had been during Harriet's more difficult years and John was sure she would never admit it now but he had taken her words to heart and done everything to be better than Harry but it had backfired because now they expected too much from him. He could never live up to her expectations and he constantly felt like he was failing her.

He allowed his posture to fall and he stepped back. He didn't want to be there anymore. He wanted to go home, to Baker's Street and to Sherlock. But Sherlock wouldn't be there. He would be going back to an empty apartment but he didn't care. He didn't care this was probably the last time he spoke to his parents but he couldn't stay in that house. He left the room and headed for the stairs. Up into his old room where he had tossed his overnight bag and grabbed it. He gave the room one last look and he shut the door behind him.

His mother was waiting in the kitchen when he came down but there was no sign of his father. The glass that had smashed was still in its place, along with the drinks tray scattered all over the floor. His mother looked up when he entered and sobbed at the sight of his bag.

"I'm going back to Baker's Street. I don't think it's a good idea if I stay here" she jumped from her seat and caught him before he could stop her.

"John I am so sorry. You're right I know you are but I don't know what to do" She pulled back and gently touched the growing bruise on his face. He winced away from her fingers.

"It's fine. And I'm sorry too but I can't stay here and watch him be like this anymore. I have a whole war ahead of me and I need to concentrate on me. Do what I want to do. I can't keep worrying about you and him and Harriet. Don't you see that? I am not going to drink my life away. I want to do things and live my life the way I want to and it is not like this"

His mother bundled him back into her arms and cried into his shoulder. He held her back. She was his mother and loved her. He loved his father and sister too he just wished they loved him and his mother enough to get help and get better. He felt bad leaving his mother but he just had to go now.

"I love you mother"

"Oh I love too John. So much" She let him go and looked at him straight in the eye. "You be careful and come home okay?" He nodded.

"I will" and with that he shouldered his bag and left the house. He shifted the bag onto his left shoulder when he felt a stinging in his hand. He looked down to find a small amount of blood on his palm and few pieces of glass, probably from when he had fallen with the drink's tray. He couldn't go back now. He could go to the Holmes' but he didn't think his emotions would hold up to Sherlock right now. No he would just wait until he got back to Baker's Street and clean it up there.

.

The bus journey back was quiet and uneventful. Some little part of his mind told him he had not said a goodbye to Mr and Mrs Holmes. At least he had spoken to Mycroft. He hadn't exactly gotten a verbal promise from him regarding Sherlock but he knew he could trust Mycroft this time. Mycroft never made the same mistake twice. He got off the bus not far from Baker's Street and let himself in. He immediately went to the kitchen where his medical kit was stored from 'Sherlock emergencies' as he called them. He was finding it tricky to manoeuvre the glass out of his hand, accidently knocking over his kit onto the floor, swearing when he absently tried to pick something up with his cut hand. There was pain in his jaw too when he tried to speak aswell. He had forgotten about that.

"John?" He jumped when he heard his voice. Sherlock was stood at his bedroom door, ready to attack by the look of him, clearly not excepting to see John home, nor was he expecting Sherlock to be their either. Sherlock made a few tentative steps towards him, catching the discolouration on John's left cheek.

"Who did this?" John knew that voice. Sherlock only ever sounded that angry when John was injured or hurt. John tried to move his hand away but once again forgetting the glass he accidently knicked Sherlock's wrist as he tried to move it away. John's palm was not quite bloody and the pain was becoming irritating. Sherlock immediately took John's wrist, turning the palm over and examining it. "Sit down"

John did as told and watch while Sherlock silently removed the fragments from John's hand before cleaning it and covering it with a small bandage.

"Thank you" Sherlock had just finished wrapping his hand but he refused to let it go once finished. All his resolve to stay away from John disappeared when John turned up bruised and bloodied. For the first time since the almost kiss he made eye contact with John.

"Who?"

"My father" John tried to play his situation down by giving a half smile "I guess I finally snapped" John recounted the story to Sherlock who didn't interrupt or say a word. He just listened holding onto John's hand all the while.

"Are you okay?" it had seemed the most logical question and yet Sherlock could hear its stupidity as he said it. "What am I saying? Of course you're not okay! Stupid question"

"No Sherlock its fine. I'm okay" he stood and looked around the apartment for a distraction from Sherlock. He decided on tea. Tea was good distraction but Sherlock had other ideas. He too had stood and seemed to be building up to something, pacing the living room as John boiled the kettle. He made his way into the living room where Sherlock was placing both cups on the coffee table. Sherlock finally stopped pacing.

"John?" John looked up from placing the cups down to find Sherlock barely a foot from him, staring at him intently.

"Sh…Sherlock"

"The other night when….when we…" He seemed to be losing his determination and John almost begged for it and as much as his body screamed for him to speak. And John's heart almost stopped when he did.

"Why didn't you kiss me?"


End file.
